As I arranged the Styrofoam containers, I pondered to myself if I was really meeting with Patrick because he was a member of the City Council, or because of his looks. I had to admit, since Scott Pressman fucked up my head pretty well, I hadn't been on any dates at all, a record for me since I was fourteen or so. Hell, even when getting ready to defend my thesis I was seeing a guy.
But Patrick ticked a lot of the marks on what I like in guys. Tall, fit, and yes, he had a bad boy vibe about him, and it was more than just the tattoos on his right arm. At the same time though, he wasn't exactly the same as some of the guys I'd dated. For one, he actually had a job.
I was trying to decide whether to offer Patrick the plastic cutlery or if he could use chopsticks when there was a knock on my office door, and Patrick came in with a laugh. "Thanks Vanessa, I'll give them a call this afternoon. You've got my unabated thanks."
"I'll remember that next time my property taxes come due," Vanessa replied deadpan, causing Patrick to laugh. He shut the door and came over, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Seriously, she's going to make my life about a thousand percent easier," he said as he sat down. The paper Vanessa had given him was already covered in blue and red pen, and there were a few sections circled. "I'm going to call these people as soon as I can."
"That's good," I replied, not really knowing what Vanessa had told him. I trusted her advice, and didn't see the need to know what she was telling him. "So other than a lack of staffing, how is adapting to your work coming along? And what happened to your face?"
Patrick touched the small cut above his eyebrow and winced. It looked deep and ugly, but still tiny, like it had been patched well. "Yeah, that's what you get when you decide to try and save money by not leaving your entryway light on and forget that you also parked your bicycle there at the same time. I was happy I could get it stopped with some pressure and a bit of medical tape last night, because I didn't want to go to the Mercy ER for something so embarrassing. As for my work, you mean besides learning that the corridors of City Hall are just about as dangerous and full of people willing to stab you in the back as The Playground?"
"Welcome to the jungle," I teased in reply. "Only difference is, in City Hall, you can't see the knives meant for you."
Patrick waved it all off in good humor, before looking around the table. "Damn, what a spread. You expecting a third person?"
I laughed and shook my head. "No, but seeing how big you are, I know that you probably don't eat a single spring roll and call it a day. My groundskeeper is a big guy too, and he eats like a horse."
"Well then, thank you," he said, sitting down. He was wearing tan chinos and a button down collared long sleeve shirt, but no tie or sport jacket. "I'd kind of gotten used to leaving lunch meetings feeling more than a little hungry."
"You don't have to worry about that," I replied, grabbing some pepper shrimp and putting it onto my tray of white rice. "I enjoy good food too. Of course the side effect is that I need to workout like a fiend in order to not swell up to the size of a small car."
Patrick chose the lemon chicken for his first choice, and followed my example. I was pleased to notice that he was quite adept with chopsticks, it's another one of those little cues that I use to see if a guy is worth being interested in. No man who doesn't have the patience to learn how to use chopsticks well is going to be able to put up with me, unfortunately. In watching him more, I was actually surprised, he was deft and skilled.
"I've got some Chinese friends who you could give lessons to," I noted as he picked up some rice with his sticks and took in a mouthful. "Seriously, how'd you get so good?"
Patrick chuckled and set his chopsticks down. "I had a lot of practice for a while. Before this I was a bartender, and before that I worked in a Asian buffet place for a while. The owner gave us free lunches, but with the caveat that we could only take thirty minutes to eat, and we had to use chopsticks. I got to the point that I could fit a lot of my daily caloric needs into a thirty minute window of binge eating while working for minimum wage, no tips."
"Really? You mentioned some of it yesterday, but I have to admit, I didn't really pay attention to your stump speech during your campaign. I live in The Heights right now, and on the north side before that."
Patrick chewed on his shrimp for a moment before answering. "Well, I'll be honest, it's not something I normally talk over with lunch. Think you'd be willing to trade?"
"What sort of trade?"
“I’ll tell you about my life, and you tell me about yours. I'll even be the nice guy and start off."
I took a sip of the iced oolong tea that the restaurant had included and nodded. "Sure, why not. But I get to ask questions. If you don't want to answer them, you just have to say so, but no lying."
"Deal. All right, so the basics. Yeah, I was born in Mercy Hospital twenty eight years ago. I have no idea who my father was, and my mom was, well, troubled. The state took me away from her when I was two."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Abuse, both of me and of herself through drugs. I spent the next sixteen years bouncing through the state systems, mostly within the city. I did get to do some summer camps upstate though, which were fun, but by junior high school the system pretty much didn't give a damn about me. I got into a lot of trouble during my teen years, which carried on until I was twenty one."
"What happened then?" I asked. "Or is it my turn?"
Patrick shook his head and continued. "A friend of mine got shot down in The Playground, and I missed getting killed at the same time by about three inches. Since then, I tried what I could to get out of the life, and keep myself on the right side of the law. I haven't always been able to, but on the other hand my arrest record is clean since I turned eighteen, mostly due to luck than anything else considering what I was mixed up with for three years. Your turn."
I chuckled darkly and ate another bite of my food, which had lost some of its delicious flavor. "I'm pretty much the opposite. My family is down in Florida, where my father owns three car dealerships in the upstate area, the biggest near Pensacola. Ah, after high school I wanted to find success on my own, so I came up here. My parents understand, even if Daddy doesn't really like it, but he's got my brother to take over the business when he's ready to retire. I think in a lot of ways they're a bit relieved that I moved up north anyway, I was always a PR disaster waiting to happen with them."
"How so?"
Shaking my head, I smiled and chewed my food. "Sorry, maybe the next time we get together. Let's just say that I don't exactly fit in around the Florida culture, even in the more openminded places like Tallahassee. But, I came up here, found myself comfortable for the first time, and have stayed. My parents and I don't really talk much any more, but that's more due to just lack of common ground than anything else. All right, my turn. What made you run for city council, and don't tell me my boss."
Patrick laughed and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Go ahead. I've got quite the capacity for tall tales and bullshit. Besides, I may just be able to blow your mind as well with some of the things I've seen and done."
Setting his chopsticks aside, Patrick scooped up some of the leftover orange chicken into his tray, followed by some ginger pork. "Well, like I said I ran with a pretty rough crowd during my teen years. You noticed my tattoos yesterday, and I regret to say that some of them are associated with the Confederation. I'm ashamed to say that yes, for a while there I did some stuff for them. Thankfully nothing too extreme, but still, not exactly the sort of tales that I want to tell my future children. Anyway, even after getting out of the life, I worked in bars and around places that some of these Confederation guys would go to, and towards the end there, some of these guys started talking about one of their own who turned on his bosses, and had sworn to take them down. This guy, I never met him, he's about three or four years younger than me, and by the end, he was damn near mythical in terms of his aura. They say that even now
he patrols through some of the neighborhoods, taking out the trash and keeping the city clean. That, combined with what Marcus Smiley started doing, kind of were the sparks that started to lift the city out of the crap it was drowning in. So when Harry Vickers was caught up in the ruckus, I just thought that it was my turn to start making a difference. I went around to the guys I knew, the folks in the area who didn't think I was a total loser, and found that more than a few of them were willing to sign the petition I needed to get signed to get on the special ballot. Gene, the GM of the Spartans you met yesterday, actually was my first donor, giving me the money out of his own pocket to pay the registering fee, and the rest, well, I'll be honest it's so crazy I can barely keep track of it all in my mind. I know I've done a lot of talks on street corners, attended a few prayer breakfasts and school PTA meetings, stuff like that. The funniest was when I somehow wrangled an invitation to talk to the members of the Nation of Islam Mosque over in Filmore Heights. I think I was the first person of Irish descent to speak there in years, if ever."
I laughed, and realized I was enjoying my lunch again. "I bet. Not too many McCafferys in the NOI. How'd that one go?"
"Pretty good, once I relaxed. They even had me as a guest for their luncheon afterwards, although I didn't get any donations cash-wise," Patrick said laughing. "Put it this way, I'd rather have the NOI come by my office than the visitor I had after our little press event."
"Oh, who was that?"
"Francine Berkowitz. Let's just say she's a lot more dangerous than some of the Confederation people I used to run with."
I nodded. "I've heard. Marcus told me he had a few run-ins with her, but he honestly didn't give a damn. Then again, he only has to worry about money, not vote counts or public polling."
"Exactly."
The rest of our lunch went on with a relaxed, casual feeling, and by the end, we were both giving each other little glances. As we finished the last fortune cookie, I noticed that it was already nearly two o'clock, and that Vanessa had knocked on the door frame twice, dropping off things on my desk. "Wow, the time," I said, setting my drink aside. "I'm sorry if I kept you from any appointments."
"No, I cleared my calendar mostly," Patrick replied as he also scooted backwards to stand up. "Uh, I know this isn't exactly business professional, but I was wondering, would you maybe like to get together some time?"
"You mean like a real date?" I asked, trying not to laugh. "I'd love to. But, one rule."
"What's that?" Patrick asked.
"We never, ever go to a restaurant called Mar de Napoli. Bad memories," I said, shivering.
Patrick gave me a concerned glance, but shrugged it off and smiled. "No problem. We'll do Thai or something. Tell you what, let me see what I can pull together, and I'll give you a call tonight. Say around eight or nine?"
"Make it nine. I've got a workout scheduled with my housekeeper after work today, and they like to push me hard. I'll need it after this feast."
Chapter 7
Sophie
That evening, when Tabby came in from work, she was practically floating. It’d been a long time since I'd seen that look in her eyes, and the warning lights in my head immediately started flashing. I didn't get to see much of what Tabby had looked like when Scott Pressman had seduced and then screwed with her head, not until he already had her all messed up inside. But I'd seen that look before.
"Uh-oh," I said, setting aside the laundry I was folding. We still had at least a half hour before we did our workout, as Mark was in the other room, catching the last of the day's trading, leaving just the two of us girls. "You've got a look on your face that worries me."
"What look is that?" Tabby asked, smiling that silly little smile she gets every time she starts to like a new person.
"That look that your heart is running way faster than your head, and that a certain City Councilman is the one leading it on the way," I said, folding the last of the t-shirts and going to work on the part of the laundry I hated most, socks. Mainly I hate matching them, because I swear they all run away from me, hiding amongst their similar yet not identical brethren. I had already threatened Mark repeatedly that next time we went shopping, I was going to throw out every sock in the house, and buy nothing but two identical twelve packs for everyone in the house, black for Mark, white for me and Tabby. She and I wear the same size socks, and we'd shared clothes in the past. I never did get around to backing up that threat though. "I guess your lunch went a lot better than you'd expected."
"It did," Tabby said, unbuttoning her suit jacket and setting her briefcase on the kitchen table, plopping down to pull off her high heels. "In fact, he asked me out on a real date right at the end."
"That's not the normal way to conclude a business meeting," I remarked, finding my first matched set, a pair of Snoopy socks that Tabby's had for years. They were nearly worn through, but Tabby refused to throw them out, since they were a gift from me back when we were undergrads together. "In fact, I've never had a business meeting conclude that way."
"True, but you met the man of your dreams in a nightclub," Tabby said, massaging her feet. "Not all of us are so lucky, remember."
"I don't want to drag up something painful Tabby, but the last guy you were with, well, he tore you up pretty bad," I said softly, tossing the first pair of socks underhand into Tabby's basket for putting away later. "Are you sure you're ready to get back in the game?"
Tabby put her feet down and came over next to me, taking my hand. "Do you mean am I ready for the risk of exposing my heart again?"
I nodded. "I'm not trying to be cruel, but you've been protected for the past few months."
I was surprised when Tabby pulled me into a hug, wrapping her arms around me and nearly squeezing the air out of my lungs.
"I've learned more about myself and my heart in the past six months than I have in my entire life,” she said softly in my ear. "The best thing was that you've been there for me the whole time. You and Mark really.”
She kissed my temple near my right ear once, then let me go, keeping hold of my hands. “I’ll never forget it. But yes, I think I’m ready. Seeing you and Mark together every day reminds me of what I’m missing.”
“All right,” I said, realizing Tabby’s longing need for love. “You know I love you, Tabs. I just want what’s best for you.”
"I know," she replied, letting go of my hands and turning to the laundry basket, helping out. "You showed me what real love looks like, having me stay with you and Mark. I've gotten to watch as you two have made something better than anything my parents have. At the same time, both of you have loved me as me, which is also a hell of a lot better than what my family did for me. Also, I'm going to take it slow this time. I know I'm not exactly the best judge of character when it comes to people sometimes, especially men.”
"Oh, I don't know about that," I replied, finding the match to the sock Tabby was hunting for and handing it to her. "You did pretty well in choosing me and Mark, after all."
Tabby chuckled and put her head on my shoulder. "I did do that pretty well, didn't I? Okay, I'll say I've chosen two times pretty well. But I can't take full credit for Mark. You chose him, remember? I just got lucky enough to tag along on that one."
"Still, you know that even if this doesn't work out, you'll always have us. This house is big enough for all of us, after all."
Tabby folded another pair, finding one of Mark's pairs and then tossing it unerringly over her shoulder into his basket. How she did it I never could understand, she's terrible at basketball, but hand her a pair of socks or a wad of paper to toss into a trashcan, and she could hit it blind around a corner with three bounces off the wall more often than not. "Even after your daughter comes? You really want a bipolar sex-starved young woman as one of her role models?"
I dropped my sock and took her chin in my hand, turning her to me. “Well lets get it right. You're not bipolar, Tabby. A bit shaken up by a master asshole, yeah, I'll give you that. But you're far too strong
for that to drive you over the edge."
Tabby looked deep into my eyes, then smiled, her fears reassured.
* * *
That night, after Tabby had retreated to her room to have her phone call with Patrick, Mark and I were in the gym, cleaning up the mats after our workout. After putting Tabby though her paces, the two of us had gone to work with the long staffs, a new traditional weapon for me. Then again, Mark's technique wasn't classical, adapted more for the ad-hoc weapons he might have had to use. As I mopped the mats with a mix of bleach and water, I told him about the conversation Tabby and I had earlier.
"That's good," he said at the end. "I was actually thinking about that a few days ago, after Tabby helped me that night after the whole thing with Mistress Blood's."
"What do you mean?”
"I was thinking that maybe the rest of Mount Zion could use some renovation. Maybe in the future that old mental ward can be torn down for a new house to be put up, or maybe this place can be expanded. Two complete living quarters housed within their own wings or something. That is, if Tabby is willing to stay our neighbors or even in the same house as us. I've kind of come to find her as irreplaceable as you do. What do you think?"
"It's something to consider," I replied. Thinking of something Tabby had said in our conversation, I laughed. "Sure you’re be willing to put up with a bunch of crazy women?”
Mark laughed and nodded. "Of course. But I did have a question, something you said. If you'd like I could ask Tabby though."
"What's that?"
"You said that we treated her better than her family did. What did she mean?"
"Tabby went through a phase of bisexuality in her early years. Her parents didn't exactly take well to it. She never gave me all the details, but from what I gathered when we were undergrads, her father worried more about how his daughter's reputation would hurt his business more than how his attitude hurt his daughter. It wasn't like they disowned her or anything, but he was clearly disapproving of the whole thing. I think he was kind of happy to have her coming up north for college, since she'd be far enough away that she couldn't cause a scandal back home, and that was why he paid for her schooling without any questions at all. Tabby's mother was in her own passive aggressive way worse about it, from the little I ever interacted with her. A lot of snippy comments and just kind of a saccharine worry. Anyway, by the time we were seniors, it seemed like she was only interested in men, but the damage was already done and things were said that could never be forgotten. Have you ever noticed her on the phone with them?"
Ambition: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Driven Book 1) Page 6
